


Side Effects May Vary

by Sarah T (SarahT)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: bulk import (unformatted)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-12
Updated: 2007-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahT/pseuds/Sarah%20T





	Side Effects May Vary

They brought in the woman first.

Javerian women ran to dark hair, heavy breasts, full lips, slinky hips, and this model came fully factory-equipped. The arderian they'd dosed John with burned in his veins as she leaned over him in the low bed, murmured outrageous things in his ear, let her fingers trail above his thighs. He managed not to jerk against the chains that bound his hands above his head when she straddled him, her filmy dress just brushing the crotch of his BDUs, but his cock did plenty of twitching as he looked down her top. He wanted to nuzzle—to lick—

"The gate address," the interrogator's voice said, cold and impersonal, piped in from somewhere. "Tell me the gate address and your access code and you will be relieved."

"Oh, baby, I love it when—when you talk dirty to me," he said.

He tried to grin, but he could feel it slipping. The woman giggled anyway. She would be so sweet and willing, breasts spilling from the dress as she lowered herself slowly onto him, smiling lazily. Hot and wet and tight, thighs spread easily for him. He could fuck her all day like that, lush and ripe, lose himself in her generous curves. She would come over and over again, laughing and kissing him. No demands, no words, just endless pleasure. The Javerians could take Atlantis, the world could come to an end, and it wouldn't matter.

She had a tiny mole on her breastbone. John fixed his eyes on that until he could at least try to think clearly again. "Sorry, I'm just not that kind of guy."

The woman snorted and got up. The vivid images in John's mind dimmed, as if someone had blown out a candle. He stifled a groan.

Then they tried the man. He was tan and buff and blond; it was thoughtful, really, John thought, the way they were offering a variety of options. He licked his lips and knelt next to John on the bed and told him how much he wanted to suck him. He leaned down, close enough that John could feel his breath against his cock. With the drug amplifying his every sensation, it was like being showered with tiny caresses. "Mmm," the guy said, "so big—I'd love to swallow..."

"The gate address and the access code," the interrogator said. "You can have everything you want."

This one would take it, take it all the way. John's hands would grab his head and he could just fuck that greedy mouth, rough and raw. No worries about whether he could breathe, whether he was comfortable. He'd _like_ it like that. He'd whimper with pleasure, unashamed, totally unconcerned about being overheard. John wouldn't even know his name, and he wouldn't have to.

John could see the very first faint inroads of male pattern baldness on the guy's head if he looked for them hard enough. He blinked, sweat dripping into his eyes. "You know, I used to be a Boy Scout. We're morally straight."

The guy looked up and gave him a sweet smile, then spat on him. This time John's hands did rattle the chains. Fortunately, the interrogator obviously thought it was to hit the guy, not force his head back down, because she didn't order him to try again. John's thighs burned and trembled with the effort of holding them still as the guy got up. When he left, he took all the light and warmth in the universe with him.

"The gate address," the interrogator said. "There are things forbidden among your people, aren't there? We don't take such a narrow view."

"Yeah, you're a really mellow bunch," John said, but he couldn't keep his eyes off the door. His skin was starving for touch. Whoever they sent in next, it would have to be better than these endless seconds alone—

They brought in a ... girl. A young girl. Too young.

John blinked again, still burning, the sweat on the back of his neck turning cold and his skin prickling violently all over. She had big eyes and braids in her hair. She was hovering near the door, but when she met his eyes, she gave him a brave smile and stepped closer.

"No one will ever know."

John jerked his head away, tried to swallow against the bile rising in his throat, and choked instead. It was almost a relief when he started to puke.

That meant a time-out for clean-up, except that it wasn't really a time-out, because even the plain redheaded soldier changing his shirt was enough to make him squirm, instinctively leaning forward for more. When her fingertips with their squared-off nails accidentally grazed his stomach, he jumped ( _Cadman_ ), and the interrogator said sharply, "Careful. Only a little touch, and we'll have to start all over again."

"What, are you kidding?" John tried to grin again, though he figured it looked more like a snarl. "I could go on like this all day."

At that point, they escalated to some local four-legged furry mammal, which purred and kneaded the bed next to him as its handler backed out. The slight rocking made him catch his breath.

"Classy," he said, with difficulty. " _Real_ classy."

"The longer you wait, the more you will suffer. In the end, you will do anything to secure relief."

"Even fuck _you_? You're scaring me."

There was no comeback from the interrogator, which was a relief, because John was by no means sure that he _wouldn't_ fuck the interrogator if she pushed him hard enough. That cool, detached voice...He glanced around the empty room, then squinted at the animal. "Lassie? You want to go for help here?"

The creature gave him a look of infinite disdain. Good thing he _hadn't_ given in; if he wanted to fuck someone who despised him, he could have hooked up with one of his COs long ago. It gave one final flick of its tail— _much_ too near his crotch—leapt down from the bed, and padded out the door.

Well, he really couldn't _wait_ to see who, or what, came in the door next, but he watched it in vain for the next several minutes. As time went by and no one came, he realized he was sweating even harder, tremors shaking his thighs. A few more minutes, and his body was twisting, trying to curl up on itself, trying to turn over so he could at least get some friction with the sheets. He had to admit, the tiny part of his brain that was still functioning was impressed. It was fucking smart, fucking _evil_ , to get him worked up like this and then just leave him alone—

The door flew open and Ronon burst in. John's first reaction was disbelief that they had somehow gotten him to cooperate. His second was that it was over. He was done. He couldn't possibly—not Ronon—

"Sheppard," Ronon said, "you okay?"

John just stared at him. Tall, massive, like a sculpture of a god worked in a rich, dense clay; there was no flaw to latch onto at all.

"We have to get you out of here." Ronon came over. "McKay's got their defenses down, and Teyla's keeping them off his back, but there's not much time."

John swallowed, the reality of the situation slowly dawning on him. This was a rescue. Ronon reached for his wrist, and he realized just in time, hissing and jerking away.

"What's wrong? Booby trap?"

"I can't—"

Ronon stepped back and surveyed him, raising his eyebrows when he saw the hard-on. "Arderian?"

"Is it that obvious?" John said weakly.

Ronon's eyes flickered downward. "Yeah. How long?"

"An hour? Two? Three? I don't have a clue."

"Hm." Ronon looked him over again. "We don't have time for it to wear off."

"Well, I can't fucking—" Just the word sent John off into hysterical laughter. Having Ronon that close was actually not helping one tiny bit.

Ronon stood and watched him for another minute. Then he nodded, sat down on the bed, and reached for the top button of John's BDUs.

"Ronon, what the hell are you— _ngh_ ," John said, just the touch of his hand against his abs enough to make him arch upwards like he was having some kind of fit.

"Don't worry. I'll make it quick."

Ronon sounded matter-of-fact, but John also detected a hint of amusement buried in his voice, and if he'd had any brain cells left, he would have devoted them to resenting it. But he didn't, not when Ronon was calmly undoing his fly and his cock was finally out after hours of strain. Not when Ronon gave it a measuring look, grabbed it, and started stroking steadily. John thought he was going to come apart behind his eyes.

But he didn't. He was thrusting convulsively into Ronon's hand, so much that Ronon had to pin his hip down with his other one so that he could keep a steady rhythm going, and every stroke was a wave of feeling so intense it hurt, but whatever had kept him from breaking for the past however long stayed stubbornly tensed against release. This could all be a drug-induced hallucination. It could be a trick, a trap. He didn't know, but the deep irrational suspicion in him wouldn't let go, though now he was almost sobbing with the sensation sweeping over him.

"Sheppard," Ronon rumbled, low. "Come on, Sheppard."

"I...can't," he panted.

"Maybe I should get Teyla."

Her throaty laugh, her hair falling into his face, the strength in her arms, her slim and knowing hands—he surged up again, so hard that he broke Ronon's grip. "You bastard, don't you even _think_ about—"

And now he was _sure_ Ronon thought this was funny. He could have sworn he heard him _chuckle_ as he forced John back to the bed. "Like I said, we're short on time."

Ronon had shifted position when he pushed John back down. Now he was kneeling over John, and John remembered the first time he'd seen him. When he'd captured John and Teyla, tied them up unconscious, had them at his mercy. John remembered watching him smooth oil into his arms, caramel over honey. They had been helpless. He could have brought the oil over and—any of them, _anything_ —

But John just couldn't _get_ there. Every time the surge began, he clamped down automatically against it. He choked with frustration. "This never happens to me, I swear."

Ronon was too distracted to respond. "I've got him," he said abruptly into his comm, as he continued to jack John off. "Just have to take care of something. Yes. Got it. We'll hurry."

He focused on John again, and suddenly John was looking at pure predator. The sight sent a delicious chill down his spine. Ronon let go of his cock and reached for the table by the bed where they'd left...useful items. John shut his eyes and concentrated on not frantically humping the air. After a minute, he felt Ronon yank down his pants and his boxers and shove a pillow under him.

"Look at me, John." Ronon gripped his face firmly. "Look."

John opened his eyes, half-reluctantly. Ronon was wearing a tiny smile, different than before. There was no humor in this one. John recognized it, the smile of the hunter who'd caught what he wanted and didn't care what his prey might think of its fate. Before, he'd just been trying to decide whether to kill them. Now...John's heart thudded in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out Ronon's voice. But nothing could have prevented him from hearing what Ronon growled next.

"I'm going to fuck you, John, and you're going to _take it_."

John's fingers scrabbled against the headboard as a wave of white passed over him, but Ronon wasn't letting him go. He poised one finger, slick with some lubricant, over John's ass and then abruptly plunged it in. John yelled and writhed against the chains, feeling the twist and the burn. It was too hard, too hard, but he was so far gone he wasn't sure he would've felt anything less.

"Feel that, John? That's me in you."

"Jesus, Ronon, yes—"

Ronon pressed his palm against John's mouth. "Don't talk. Come."

He braced John again and drove in a second finger. John was tasting colors, and there were tears running from the corners of his eyes. Ronon worked him relentlessly, curling and uncurling, his eyes burning.

A backup team of marines could show up to rescue him any minute. They could break in and find him here, chained up and splayed out half-naked, gasping and begging wordlessly for more while the alien did exactly what he wanted to. They'd see how desperate he was, how hard, how helpless. They'd know, they'd _all_ know what John needed, and just how badly he needed it. Maybe after he was done with John, Ronon would let them all have a turn at giving it to him.

Ronon laughed, intimate and harsh. "Now, John. Now." He forced a third finger in and bore down til he found John's prostate. John kicked his legs out convulsively, banged his head into the headboard, and came hard everywhere.

When the thudding in his head cleared a little, he was slumped against the headboard, his cheek resting on his arm, and Ronon was finishing buttoning him up. "Can you walk, Sheppard?" he asked as he reached again for the chains.

John shivered as Ronon's hands encircled each of his wrists in turn. "Is the Pope Catholic?" he asked dreamily.

"Is the who what?"

The chains dropped away. John giggled and would've fallen forward, but Ronon caught him.

"You can't walk," he said. "Side-effect of the arderian."

"Don't get any...any ideas about Earthmen's stamina from this." Ronon slung him efficiently over his shoulder. The friction was already starting to feel good again. "We're always ready to...to..."

"Right," Ronon said, and there was that damn laugh in his voice again. John would have to teach him a lesson, but not right now. Not while John was pressed up so deliciously against him. "We're coming, Teyla."

"We already did," John half-giggled.

"Speak for yourself," Ronon muttered and lugged him out of the room.

Teyla took one look at them as Ronon carried him into the jumper and said, "Drugged?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's just great," Rodney said. "While I've been hacking this planet's defense systems so we could rescue him, he's been off at a rave?"

"I doubt it was voluntary," Teyla said. "The Javerians are well-known for their skill in compounding medicines. They must have been interrogating him."

"Nice people, the Javerians," John said. "Maybe we could settle down here, Teyla, raise half a dozen kids—God knows, having 'em wouldn't be a problem—"

Ronon shifted him abruptly, cutting him off and also, incidentally, hiding his slowly growing hardon.

"Ah," Teyla said. John couldn't see her face, but he was pretty sure that _she_ was looking amused now, too. He would object, except that he mostly just wanted to wrap himself around her. She always smelled so good. If he was nice, maybe she would let him. "Doctor McKay, can you fly us out of here?"

"Well, I'm going to have to, since our pilot here apparently doesn't know how to just say no," Rodney said, and moved to the front. "I don't want to hear any complaints about the flight path, though."

Ronon unslung John onto one of the back benches as the jumper lifted off. John promptly slid down sideways. Ronon grumbled something and moved to prop him up. John sighed, his head dropping onto Ronon's chest. Teyla handed Ronon a blanket, and he hastily draped it over them.

"I will see if I cannot keep Doctor McKay distracted," she said quietly.

John smiled. There were all sorts of things Teyla could do to get Rodney's attention. Nice things. He closed his eyes and let the images wash over him. "You could always—"

Then one of Ronon's hands went firmly over his mouth, the other curled loosely around his cock, and he forgot about everything else.  



End file.
